


Of Gifts and Desires

by thewickling (Diviana)



Series: Ordinary Days [2]
Category: S.C.I.谜案集 | S.C.I. Mystery (TV)
Genre: Christmas Presents, Cooking, Fluff, Food Porn, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 08:26:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16971165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diviana/pseuds/thewickling
Summary: Zhan Yao and Yutong set up a gift exchange challenge.





	Of Gifts and Desires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarahyyy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/gifts).



The early morning sun pried open Zhan Yao’s eyes. The brightness forgave no one. Blinding, it intensified the whiteness of Yutong’s bedroom. From the bedspread to the walls to the furnishings, white dominated. Rubbing his face against a knuckle, he shuffled half into a sitting position. The sheets slunk off him, revealing Yutong still asleep. His arms tucked under his pillow; he laid more on his stomach than his back.

Zhan Yao blinked. Snapping wide-awake, he checked the alarm clock. Seven in the morning shone on the face. Picking it up, he turned between the time and Yutong. His head bobbed to and fro like a spectator of a long tennis rally.

Yutong opened one eye. A lazy survey of Zhan Yao later, he yawned. Turning his head away from the window, he wiggled to a more comfortable position.

Zhan Yao nearly slammed the clock on the nightstand. In the same motion, he twisted. One hand swept Yutong’s fringe away and the other palm pressed firmly on Yutong’s forehead. A delicate warmth hummed up his fingers.

 ** _Thwack._** Yutong clamped his wrist. Propping himself up on his forearm, he scanned Zhan Yao from head to toe. One of his brows rocketed up judgmentally.

“What’s the matter with you?” he grumbled. Slumber still claimed his vocal cords. His voice hovered between a drowsy rumble and judgmental accusation.

“It’s 5 past 7.”

Yutong’s expression pinched.

“5 past 7,” Zhan Yao enunciated, holding up a hand. “I can count on one hand the number times you have woken up after me.”

He licked his lips. A lopsided mouth quirk displayed his dismissal. If his paws weren't occupied, the mouse would be grooming his whiskers without giving Zhan Yao’s words further consideration.

Biting his cheek, Zhan Yao hissed, “Two if we count when you're medicated.”

Shaking his head, he scoffed. His head arched away from Zhan Yao. Exhaling loudly, he palmed his chin.

“Lazy cat sleeps in.” He bobbed his head to underscore his point. “Complains when I wake him up. Says I should stay in with him.” His attention returned to Zhan Yao. His tongue swept his lips. His eyes wide with emotion. “I decide to listen to the Kitty and he decides I must be sick.”

Hands in the air in surrender, Zhan Yao remarked, “Fine, paws off. I’ll shower first.”

Rolling out of bed, he paused in front of the chest of drawers.

“Are we going out today?”

“Uhnnn. Getting a certain house cat outside on a day off is a pain.”

Zhan Yao nodded. Selecting for comfort over appearance, he bought a navy long sleeve and dark pants with him. Everything piled on the sink counter; he leaned on the edge. His necked craned to catch any whisper from the bedroom. Closing his eyes, he counted to ten before his shoulders untensed. This worked in his favor.

 _Quick, before fussy mouse’s busybody nature kicks in,_ he thought. _Shower._

* * *

Catching his breath, Zhan Yao rested his palms on marble. Of course, Bai Yutong’s kitchen had a white marble island. Da-jie spared no expense selecting amenities for her precious younger brother.

He inhaled. Drawing in a grounding breath, he mentally smoothed over his hackles. He shifted his weight forward, stretching. Relaxing, he scanned the space. Beyond the island was a living room and past that a hall that led to the bedrooms. Yutong had yet to appear.

Carefully, he bent and picked up a box. Still in its package, he pulled apart the cardboard. Dumping it on the ground, he ran his fingers over a bamboo box. He centered it, lining it with the two others of its kin.

He stepped back. Surveying the scene, he questioned his decision to go sans-wrapping paper or even a bag. He turned his head from shoulder to shoulder. Well, the unadorned boxes had an elegance to it that matched the Japanese aesthetic.

Yutong cleared his throat. He approached the counter like a mouse exploring a new maze. His fingertips cupped the island’s edge. His shoulders tensed for action but he tilted his head. Peering at Zhan Yao, his attention was half assigned to the narrow bamboo boxes.

“We’re not children. I did not see a reason to wait until midnight before exchanging gifts.” Zhan Yao swallowed. Gesturing to the box, he ducked his head to hide that nervous reflex.

Settling into a seat, Yutong reached for the middle box. He gingerly slid the top off. A 200mm, handcrafted gyuto, if he remembered the Japanese correctly, shone proudly atop dark fabric. It's box doubled as a display case.

Pinching the blade above the bolster, Yutong rocked the chef knife. His fingers shifted, testing the balance and feel. He mined different slicing and chopping actions.

Zhan Yao tapped his foot. Biting his tongue, he resisted the urge to cross his arms. He researched for days to wrap his brain around the different kinds of knives. He spent another week determining which fit Yutong or he hoped they fit anyway.

Yutong placed the knife back in its case. The craftsman’s name faced up. He opened the others: santoku and nakiri. He repeated his actions with other knives.

“Carbon steel.”

The mouse’s brow twitched. “Higher maintenance.”

His criticism lacked any bite. His attention never wavered from the blades. His hand switched gripes and he mined various cutting motions.

“Holds a sharper edge,” he recited from his research.

Carbon steel patinas more easily but that did not make it dirty. Many chefs enjoyed the personality carbon steel gave a knife — fingerprints of its history. Despite what Yutong’s cleanliness suggested, he enjoyed such items.

“You just want me to cook for you.”

With a lopsided smile, he nodded.

“Well,” Yutong said, looking up. “We should switch places.”

“Now?”

“Mhm… might as well test them now. See how shitty your tastes are. Tsk.”

“Bai Yutong,” he retorted, biting his cheek. “I am merely a public servant. I cannot compare to the gifts bestowed —” he gestured at the apartment as he circled the island — “by Da-jie.”

Yutong rolled his eyes. They both knew that the worth of the knives: a few thousand each. While the price hadn’t restricted Zhan Yao’s choices, it ensured he did not select a ‘full set’ like those people had on display rather than used. Zhan Yao had to order months ahead to guarantee these three would be forged in time; although Yutong did not know that, it could be easily deduced with the name etched into the blade.

“This gift, spoiled cat,” He clicked his tongue. “You just wanted an excuse to eat my food.”

“Mhm.”

Zhan Yao plopped onto the seat Yutong vacated. Resting his chin in his palms, he watched Yutong expectantly. Anything Yutong made tasted heavenly. Opening a restaurant was not out of the question if the military mouse desired a career change. He didn't so Zhan Yao got all the benefits without any competition.

* * *

All the ingredients were arranged on the island; the three freshly washed knives sat next to a cutting board. With the chef’s knife, he sliced through the top and end of a cucumber. Holding up the blade and angling toward him, he placed it against the peel. The metal glided across the vegetable.

Zhan Yao would never describe Yutong as beautiful. He would not deny that the boxing mouse was attractive. Even in a v-neck and slate joggers, his well-proportioned figure shone through. Yutong’s hands though…

They did not belong to a pianist nor whatever other metaphorical professions that implied delicate and pretty. The short-trimmed nails and slightly rough textured palms told the story of someone who used them for harsher tasks. The pa-pa-ta of boxing played from several overlapping memories. That image of decisive punches contrasted with the precise filleting of fish.

Undoubtedly the showboat mouse was preening. He had eaten this sort fish on the fresh cutting board numerous times without this fanfare. Typically, it was served whole.

Digging into the gills, Yutong used the santoku to incise close to the bone. He spun it 180. Tucking the edging in, he slid until the blade was parallel until board. He glided over the bone. A soft clink indicated his care.

The fluid motion mesmerized Zhan Yao. His mind drifted. Appreciating how Yutong segmented fish might be morbid to some; however, deft touch led to bones with so little on them the remaining meat was translucent.

Observing how Yutong sliced carrot and radish with the end of the chef’s knife and the crunch of cutting through thick greens with the nakiri along, Zhan Yao understood how Yutong could be such a good chef. If you factored in his fastidious personality along with his good nose, his meticulous handwork, and uncanny intuition, the fussy mouse was primed for amazing cooking.

Yutong placed his knives down. The spell broke. Zhan Yao abruptly became aware of his body.

Slinking into the chair, he swallowed. Gravity pulled on him more so than usual. Pushing away the awkwardness, he asked, “Where’s my present?”

Hands froze mid-air. Like stop-motion, the action stilted before he finished tossing garlic into a pan. His back turned. The stuttering lingered in his stirring of greens and prodding of fish.

“Later.”

Zhan Yao mentally recorded the peculiar reaction. Contrasting it with his internal Yutong file, he frowned. He couldn't place it.

They had competitions in the past: guessing what the other gifted, determining who picked the better gift, and escalating the extravagance with each new gift-giving holiday. Eventually, they mutually agreed not to exchange gifts. This was the first time they did so since they began university.

Zhan Yao recalled the mouse when nervous, competitive, frustrated, begrudgingly impressed and more. This sort of tension did not fit neatly into any of those categories. He sighed.

 _Perhaps his gift isn't as good…_ that sounded like a lazy excuse even in Zhan Yao’s mind.

Sure the challenge could not be quantified easily. He had pointed out that much when the idea came up: ‘a gift based on what they guessed the other truly wanted’. Accordingly, the punishment for this particular exchange wasn't that severe. Whoever lost had to announce to the team they were dating.

Zhan Yao crossed his arms.

A lost for Yutong would barely register. The team would complain and moan but accept it easily enough. Their bonds were stronger than office romance drama.

Zhan Yao drew his arms closer. The force nearly pained him… Nothing could compare to the thought that Ah Yi, Shu Shu, and Da-jie would reject Zhan Yao. A vise caged his heart. While he got along with his mom, she busied herself with humanitarian efforts around the world. He barely had a relationship with his father to speak of.

His muscles trembled.

He exhaled. Dropping his arms to the counter, clasping his fingers, he released the pressure.

The dinner had gone swimmingly, shockingly well, despite Bai Chi nearly fainting. While his father pointed fingers, the Bai family took it in stride. All his worries had seemed for naught.

He blinked, peering up from between his eyelashes. Yutong’s cooking chopsticks darted from pan to pot. A few finished side dishes sat in the corner.

Drumming his fingers, Zhan Yao chewed on his cheek. His gaze not quite lingering on Yutong but around him. The clasp around his heart remained more thorns than barbwire. A green discomfort that never completely left him.

He once admitted to Yutong that he was jealous of the good father Shu Shu was. If he were radically honest, that bramble of envy like a tenacious weed sprouted over and over again. At times he managed to burn it to the ground but it always survived in a thorn or vine.

Sprouting from how Shu Shu was a good father, from how Da-jie spoiled Yutong, how easily people gathered around Yutong…

Granting a gift based on what someone truly wanted was nigh impossible. Yutong’s immaterial desires hovered within his grasp if he put in the effort: to do right as a sixth generation officer, to be a leader his team would be proud to follow, to service and protect…

What Zhan Yao wanted did not come easily. Of course, prestige ranked up there, to impact his field… Somewhere in him squatted a small child, a boy, who wanted the unconditional support of his family, who wanted someone to lavish affection on him, and who wanted the effortless attention of others. How could anything material come close to that?

“Sleepy Kitty.”

Yutong snapped his fingers.

Zhan Yao cocked a brow.

“You look like a tomcat dragged you in by the neck.”

Tapping on the marble, Zhan Yao diverted his gaze. No number of degrees made someone more than human. Even if he felt like his knowledge should let him conquer these shameful parts of him. Perhaps that little ungrateful boy in him was to blame for the ages it took him to realize his feelings for Yutong.

These emotions were his and to deny them would be insanity. They were not something else although he was easier to imagine them as such. He swallowed and shook his head. That did not mean he wanted to share.

Yutong eyed Zhan Yao as he peeled a radish. A thin and long sheet polished by a knife’s edge and Yutong’s patience. He folded it and nicked slits to create a flower. He plopped atop lightly pickled radish and carrot.

Zhan Yao chuckled. “Showboat.”

“All of it can go in my stomach and not yours.” His tongue flicked out mockingly.

Palms up, he gestured in surrender.

“Well.”

Zhan Yao tilted his head in confusion.

“You have arms and legs,” Yutong said, directing at the limbs with a knuckle. “Set the table.”

Chopsticks in hand, they settled in next to another. Their shoulders touched like Yutong did not believe his silent ‘nothing is wrong’. A pleasant heat spread between them.

Digesting the table, it was a feast for all the senses. Lightly golden fish still had steam rising from it. Along with the hot air, pepper, and lemongrass tickled his nose. In small dishes, lightly pickled carrot and radish, as well as sliced cucumber, offered themselves as palette cleansers. Bitter greens mixed with the almost sweet scent of roasted garlic.

The fish melted on his tongue. The radish popped with the sharpness of vinegar, balancing out the slight bit of pepper. The bitterness of the greens simmered down to the sweetness of the roast garlic.

He found himself smiling. Whoever said that food comforted the soul was wise.

“Why did you buy me knives?”

“Christmas.”

Yutong tackled him lightly.

Zhan Yao barely rocked from the touch.

His narrowed eyes said: _“you know what I meant.”_

“You, or Da-jie, can buy you anything you could ever want,” Zhan Yao said. “So anything big and flashy was out of the question. You get enough of that sort of thing from Da-jie; I doubt you remember half of what she gave you.”

He shifted in silent agreement.

“You like cooking—”

He corrected, “I’m good at it.”

Zhan Yao rolled his eyes. “You’re good at it and you like it because you like to take care of others.”

“I have a spoiled cat,” Yutong drawled, dropping greens into Zhan Yao’s bowl, “with a picky tongue to satisfy.”

“While you could get these yourself, it’s one of the things people put off because normal knives work just fine.”

“I guess. You thought it all out, didn't you Dr. Zhan?”

“Mhm… so where’s my present.” Zhan Yao half-smiled. “Or do I just win?”

Biting his lip, he hissed, “After you finish the dishes.”

* * *

Rubbing his hands on his pants, Zhan Yao walked from the kitchen to the bedroom. Yutong amidst his dishwashing had disappeared. Without pause, he shoved the door open.

Yutong sat with a white ribbon around his neck.

Zhan Yao snickered, knuckles pressed into his lips to hold back a full-body rumble.

Sticking out his tongue, Yutong drawled, “Unwrap your present.”

“Did you steal the idea from a soap opera?”

He braced himself on the threshold. His shoulders trembling as he suppressed his laughter.

Reclining, Yutong rested his weight on his arms. Like out of a cheesy romance novel, he had a delicate and thin bow tied around his neck. He had not slipped into lingerie nor stripped to reveal more skin. Yutong’s confidence more than made up for his normal dress. He glowed with it.

Shrugging, he said, “Your original gift got caught up in—”

He gestured vaguely. Smirking, he remarked, “I'm not a consolation gift though. You’ll enjoy me just as much.”

Raising his brows, he gave Yutong a look. The overconfident mouse grinned and flexed his muscles where he saw Zhan Yao’s eyes trace. There was something about how the thin, delicate bow contrasted with how Yutong’s t-shirt hugged his muscles that was…

The gap between them contained the same energy as Yutong’s hands creating a garnish versus forming a fist. A beauty in the difference that sent something heated down his chest.

Yutong quirked his head. His gaze traced Zhan Yao appreciatively like he was the one receiving a present not giving it. In his lopsided smile was a challenge: “claim me unless you're a scared cat.”

Zhan Yao advanced. Propping on knee on the mattress, he leaned down. Meeting Yutong’s dilated pupils, he paused. In Yutong’s ear, whispered, “You admit defeat?”

Angling his head similarly, he drawled, “We’ll see about that when this is over.”

Grabbing Zhan Yao’s collar, he pulled them together. Their mouths pressed roughly against another. The kiss was firm and quick, a challenge.

They parted.

Yutong cocked a brow. Inching closer, they kissed again. A soft kiss without any hardness to it that faded as quickly as it came. The sort of action that invited the other person to retaliate. Zhan Yao frowned at the realization.

A light chuckle later, he grasped Zhan Yao’s thigh and pulled him onto the bed. Throwing an arm around Yutong, Zhan Yao balanced himself. He hovered over Yutong’s lap. Yutong’s smile grew with delight.

Zhan Yao nipped Yutong’s lips. He couldn’t let the smug mouse do as he pleased without a response. A chuckle vibrated through them.

Kisses exchanged kisses like banter. Each escalating the action as a retort to the other. From pecks tantalizingly feather light to lips rolled between teeth eliciting electricity, somewhere in the middle they lost their shirts.

The bow around Yutong’s remained, slightly ruffled. Zhan Yao kissed and nibbled his way to Yutong’s neck following the path the ribbon laid out. There was something lovely about how the ribbon clung to Yutong’s skin. How it looked soft and tidy compared to the sweat beading up on Yutong’s well-formed pecs. The dainty fabric against the firm muscles hit meng points Zhan Yao didn't know he had.

“You look like a cat with a canary.”

Zhan Yao pulled back. “Don't you mean a mouse?”

Laughing, Yutong rested a hand on his back. The other stroked the fire in Zhan Yao as it danced its way from his spine to his waist. A questioning but not at all shy touch that stopped at the edge of Zhan Yao’s pants.

Yutong angled his head. His eyes brightened with a silent question. His teasing finger emphasized his request.

Zhan Yao nodded.

“Your present,” he said; his voice breathy and low, “Your choice.”

Zhan Yao blinked.

His mind still stuck on Yutong’s fingers: how light and precise they were forming a rose from daikon and how strong and determined they were striking down an enemy. The same hands that created delightful meals could also destroy. Those same fingers played with the elastic of his pants. The idea, the contrast, made him swallow.

Encouraging Zhan Yao to answer quicker, Yutong’s teeth grazed Zhan Yao’s chest. A pleasant blossomed from his nipple.

Grasping Yutong’s shoulder, Zhan Yao shifted his weight. He guided Yutong with a roll of his body. Yutong braced himself on his palms. An amused grin appeared at Zhan Yao’s reply.

One hand up, he grabbed the ribbon before Zhan Yao stopped him. A different brightness entered Yutong’s eyes.

“Naughty kitty,” he teased, bending to mutter into Zhan Yao’s ears.

He purred, “Says the mouse that offered himself all wrapped up.”

“Unwrap your present then.”

Yutong’s eyes glittered with the demand. Nonplussed, Zhan Yao pulled his joggers off. Yutong’s boxer-briefs did nothing to hide his growing excitement.

Yutong kissed him, mouth parted. If before their kisses were teasing banter, now this was more akin to one of Yutong’s childish taunts. Impatient and faster-paced, his tongue delved into Zhan Yao’s mouth. His hands yanked off Zhan Yao’s pants and boxers at the same time.

Slamming his hand into Yutong’s shoulder, he pointed to the nightstand with a nudge of his head. Yutong scrambled for the lube and condoms. Laughing, he moved up and made himself comfortable. Another rumble raced through him as he saw Yutong crawl back sans-briefs.

Having some one’s fingers inside, that never felt exactly comfortable. Yutong was good at distractions, biting a path from his ears to his jaw. His other hand teased his cock and balls. Sparks of pleasure overwrote the mild discomfort of being stretched.

Of course, Zhan Yao did not just receive passively. Scratching the slit of Yutong’s lower head, the confident mouse leaned his head into the crook of Zhan Yao’s neck. His other hand went to play with Yutong’s chest. The curses half-buried in his skin encouraged him: _“Stop fucking teasing me, harder…”_

Yutong entered and his hips stilled. The sensation of something in him wasn't enjoyable in of itself, but it conjured up memories of past romps. Observing how childishly impatient Yutong held himself back so Zhan Yao could adjust made Zhan Yao feel loved.

“Fuck.”

“Will do,” Yutong quipped; his voice strained.

 _No,_ Zhan Yao replied in his mind, _fuck do I tell you that you won?_

The realization he had already gotten his ideal present, in a form he hadn't expected, long before Yutong decided to put a bow on himself flooded his mind with an intoxicatingly sweet warmth.

Instead of dwelling on it, he bucked his hips invitingly.

Yutong obliged.

Like a discussion, their motions started slow and deliberate. The pace intensified naturally with a twitch of hips. A heat built up in Zhan Yao’s belly. He flexed, arching his back as he came. Yutong shuddered, collapsing onto Zhan Yao. Bones loose and slumber cradling him, all Zhan Yao wanted was to nap.

For a moment, it seemed like Yutong had similar ideas. His breathing evened out and he nuzzled Zhan Yao’s neck. But he sat up, Yutong tugged Zhan Yao’s arm.

“Shower, mangy cat.”

He cracked open one eye and sighed. Half-sitting up, he felt Yutong picking him up effortlessly. Once he was sure Yutong wouldn't drop him, he immediately drifted off.

“Spoiled cat,” Yutong teased.

Even with his eyes closed, Zhan Zhan Yao could see the indulgent smile on his face. In an oddly peaceful tone, he thought, _I lost. I'm so screwed._

* * *

Zhan Yao woke with Yutong curled around him. The lazy mouse left them undressed under the blankets. Their skin stuck to each other wherever they touched. As Zhan Yao shifted, Yutong moved to close the gap.

A molasses-thick, sweet emotion embraced his heart. Kissing Yutong’s hair, he repeated to himself, _I’m so screwed._

His three wishes had been granted a long time ago.

Sure, Yutong wasn't his family but their cat-and-mouse relationship made them closer than family in many ways. Except when they had chosen to divert their paths, Yutong had always been there for Zhan Yao whether he wanted him to be or not.

As for affection and attention, they had rarely ever been apart. Of course, they were now dating but even before that Yutong cooked for him, helped him tidy his apartment, and bridged the communication gaps he had with others. Dating just turned everything up a few notches.

An indescribably soft and gentle sensation floated in his chest. His heart didn't race but it beat in a new rhythm. He suspected if he pressed his ear to Yutong’s chest the sounds would match.

“Fuck.”

Yutong blinked several times, chasing the sleep from his eyes. The cautious mouse had always been and light sleeper. His training worsened that.

Sitting up, Zhan Yao gained and clear view of Yutong’s neck and the white ribbon around it. The gentle feeling expanded, filling every space within him. Slipping out without his input, he said, “I love you.”

Yutong jolted straighter.

“I love you, too,” he said, but it sounded more like he was singing. A grin wider than his face betrayed his emotions. _“Cheater,_ you win.”

Zhan Yao blinked. He realized suddenly this was the first time either of them had said that three word phrase. The gentle, soft sensation became radiant.

That did not crush his competitive nature. The feathery happiness his chest curbed it though. Yutong had technically won. His words hadn't been a gift.

“Let’s call it a draw then.”

“Mhm.”

**Author's Note:**

> I attempted smut? I feel like I failed but I attempted it. There's a reason it was the fifth listed thing. 
> 
> This fic is accidentally connected to a longer fic I have yet to post but none of the spoilers are major so I am going to post this anyway.
> 
> Um... here's my [tumblr](thewickling.tumblr.com) if you want to drop. Comments and thoughts much loved.


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